I need to thank my ladies… Canadian Garrison, Chancefangirl and as always my Tessinciucy :).

I don't own any of these characters… well except maybe JJ.

"Mis?" asked Porthos, as he slowly stitched up the long gash on his comrade's cheek, "how did you come to get that scar on your forehead?" It was one of many scars his best friend carried, but was one that Porthos had never heard the story behind.

The brawler watched as the marksman frowned, reaching up to the faint line on his face and tracing it lightly with his fingers thinking back to earlier this morning. The three inseparables had been asked to join d'Artagnan in the training yards earlier that day to show the recruits some more advanced sword moves. Aramis had been going over some of the finer aspects of disarming an opponent when Porthos' main gauche had neatly sliced open the Musketeer's cheek. He'd stood there stunned, hand to his face trying to stop the blood flow, staring wide eyed at his best friend.

"I-" Aramis began, interrupted conveniently by the arrival of Athos and Treville. Aramis was immensely grateful for the reprieve of having to answer Porthos' question. He was already distressed enough at having a second scar on his face, and he wasn't sure he wanted to bring up old memories.

Porthos growled grumpily at the inopportune intrusion, and patted Aramis' injured cheek lightly, earning a pained hiss from the man.

"Would you mind?" complained Aramis. The musketeer rose off the bed he had been sitting on and raced to the small mirror in the corner, tilting his head slightly, examining Porthos' needlework. "First you attack me and now aim to torture me. Isn't it enough that you have marred this handsome face?"

Porthos threw his hands in the air frustratingly. "Aramis, I did not attack you! Claudet successfully disarmed my knife and you just happened to be in its path." He turned towards the door, looking at Athos and Treville pleadingly. Athos was leaning against the doorframe smirking at Aramis' mutterings in the corner of the room, and Treville looked his usual stern self. The minister was standing with his arms crossed and legs parted slightly, looking only the slightest bit concerned.

"Aramis?" Athos questioned trying to change the subject. "When we walked in Porthos was asking you about your other scar, the one on your forehead."

"I have no clue what you are talking about," was the response. Aramis was still closely examining his injury, debating the pros and cons of what would be a new scar on his face.

"So you don't know how he got that scar either?" Porthos asked.

Athos finally directed his attention away from the marksman and looked towards his other friend. "You've known him longer than I; he had that scar when I first walked into the Garrison."

"That would be because he earned that mark before either of you joined, about a year into his tenure in the Musketeer regiment." Treville walked over to Aramis, pulling him away from mirror and placing him back down on the bed. He grabbed some cloth, and, pouring some brandy over it, gently dabbed it over the fresh stitches.

Aramis had finally clued in to what they were talking about and he huffed indignantly as Treville continued his ministrations. "I do not remember where the scar came from," was the terse reply.

He cried out a moment later when he was slapped in the back of the head by his former Captain.

"How easily you forget Jean Jr., Aramis! You surprise me," Treville laughed. Aramis merely sputtered in panic as Porthos and Athos raced to the bed and sat down, one beside the marksman and the other at the end of the bed.

"Jean Jr.?" asked Porthos.

"You promised to never repeat this story, Jean-Armand!" Aramis emphasized, using the Minister's first name to convey his displeasure.

Treville's eyes narrowed and he grinned menacingly. "And you forget your place Ren'e."

"Traitor!"

Athos and Porthos merely looked back and forth between Treville and Aramis, shocked at the tone the men were taking with each other. Porthos pulled Aramis backwards into his arms and smiled. "Come on 'Mis, tell us. Please?"

Aramis sighed and waved his hand towards Treville, indicating he should proceed.

Treville just patted Aramis' knee. "I will do the story justice, Aramis. Jean Jr. was beloved by all despite her hatred of everyone but you." The minister glanced over at the other two men to see them frowning in confusion and chuckled amusingly.

"Yes boys, Jean Jr. was a girl. Much to Aramis' surprise, and to mine when I found out what he named her…"

He stood proud at the railing, looking down at his men milling about the new Musketeers Garrison. It had taken the better part of the year to recruit and train his new regiment and he was pleased at the progress made. The King would be well looked after by these elite soldiers training below him.

Treville scanned the crowd of men looking for one in particular, who should have returned from the errands he had been sent on earlier today. He spotted his second in command and best shot in Paris, stealthily sneaking through the gates to the garrison, holding his hat to his head steadfastly.

The young man was constantly inviting trouble and on more than one occasion had needed Treville's assistance in getting him out of binds. He leaned farther over the railing, watching as Aramis scanned his comrades in the garrison, failing to look upwards to see if his Captain was there. The man obviously had decided the coast was clear and his presence unnoticed, because he glanced upwards at the hat on his head and grinned as he dashed into his lodgings near the entrance to the garrison.

Treville shook his head in annoyance and made his way down the steps and across the training yard towards Aramis' rooms. His marksman was obviously up to no good, and he didn't terribly want it brought into the garrison. He was also incredibly curious as to how Aramis had gotten into mischief when all he'd been asked to do was deliver a missive to the local tailor on behalf of the Queen.

Treville's next thought stopped him in his tracks and he groaned audibly as he realized he knew exactly what Aramis had just done.

"Aramis!" he cried out loudly, "you better not have brought into my garrison, what I think you have just brought in here!"

A series of muffled curses and a hasty, "Be right with you, Captain!" could be heard from behind the closed door that the now fuming Treville was standing in front of. He wasn't going to wait, however, and flung the door open hoping to catch Aramis in the act.

"Tell me you did not go anywhere near Madam Marceaux's," he yelled.

It had the desired effect. Aramis jumped backwards and toppled over the edge of his bed, landing on the floor with a yelp. His hat went flying off his head and the marksman scrambled to grab for it before it hit the ground. Treville walked forward and swept up the hat before Aramis could reach it and looked down into the base to see…

"What!? What was in the hat?!" asked Athos frantically when Treville paused in his story telling.

"Shhh, Athos," Porthos whispered, pointing to Aramis. The man had leaned into his friends embrace and had fallen asleep as Porthos ran his fingers through the wayward curls of hair on his head.

Athos smiled fondly, "Don't assume for a second that he isn't still listening to make sure you tell this story correctly Minister. Please, do continue. What was in that hat?"

"Very well…" Treville began to speak again.

When Treville had looked down into Aramis' hat he was met with two very large blue eyes staring back at him. That was about all he could see amongst the giant ball of white-as-snow fluff, nestled in the hat base. Said ball of fluff had let out the most pitiful mewl and scrambled out of the hat hissing. It scurried across the ground and scrambled up Aramis' leg, meowing defiantly at Treville. Aramis had merely glared at his captain and placed the cat on his shoulder. It was obvious to Treville that his youngest soldier was preparing himself for a battle of wills.

Athos chuckled, "That sounds like Aramis, bringing in strays."

"She wasn't really a stray, per claimed to have saved the kitten from some ruffians, but in reality Madame Marceaux's Persian cat had just had kittens," Treville explained.

"I can explain Captain, please, you will see how much of an asset it will be to the garrison!"

"Aramis, no."

"But… But. I'm not giving it up! You can't make me."

"Ara-" Treville didn't finish the sentence, instead interrupting himself. "Just no."

Aramis huffed indignantly pulling the kitten off his shoulder and smiling fondly, cooing at the tiny ball of fluff.

Treville sighed again, waiting for Aramis to begin his litany of reasons to keep the kitten. The man surprised him moments later though when he merely turned away from Treville and starting humming a lullaby to the kitten and placed it on his head. The kitten yawned and circled once on the crown of Aramis' head before settling amongst the unruly curls and closed its eyes. Aramis replaced the hat on his head lightly and tipped it slightly at Treville and crossed his arms defiantly, glaring once more.

"Jean Jr was all alone, Captain. He was the last one left... the runt of the litter. He's too young to be alone and uncared for. You have to let me keep him!"

"Aramis, we have no room for a cat in the regiment. Wait. What? Jean Jr?"

"He's fuzzy and ornery, just like you!" Aramis exclaimed excitedly.

Porthos and Athos dissolved into silent fits of giggling. Shoulders shaking in mirth as Treville glared at them fondly.

"Yes, it is a miracle I allowed him to live after that comment."

"Did you allow him to keep the cat?" Asked Porthos.

"No, but he did anyways, much to my annoyance," replied Treville.

"While I appreciate this highly amusing story of our troublesome, young Aramis," said Athos. "That still doesn't explain how Aramis got his scar."

"It would help, Athos, if you and Porthos would stop interrupting me!" frowned Treville. He was looking down at Aramis, who was obviously having unpleasant dreams. The marksman had burrowed himself further into Porthos' arms and had sighed distressingly.

"You should have seen this cat. Fiercely protective of her owner, defending her beloved Aramis and terrorizing the entire regiment. She was constantly stealing things from the men's rooms and leaving them on my desk. She would attack anyone who set foot inside the gates to the garrison, and that includes myself. The only other person she would tolerate was Serge, and Aramis claimed that it was because she understood he was the provider of food. It was Serge that figured out Jean was actually female, much to Aramis' amusement. But that is Serge's story to tell."

A soft cry from Aramis startled Treville from his musings over a cat and he looked to see Porthos lightly shaking the marksman awake, "Mis open your eyes, it's just a dream."

Aramis shot upwards blinking confusedly and wrapped his cloak tightly around his shoulders, "Sorry, sorry. I've not… She was..." He stuttered, unable to form a sentence for a moment.

"It's alright Mis, Treville was just telling about your kitten," Porthos comforted. "How long did you have her for?"

Aramis furrowed his brows in thought, obviously calculating the time, "A few years maybe? She was always small for her size and was always found nestled in my hats." As he mentioned his hats his hand went straight to his scar on his forehead once more. This time he didn't frown though, instead smiled brightly and looked towards Treville.

"Have you told them about this?" he asked Treville, and the minister shook his head no.

His petite little darling was growing fast and could barely fit on his head under the hat anymore. His fellow Musketeers adored his sweet JJ, despite her despising them. There was actually no one his kitten despised more than Aramis' Captain. Even if she was hiding under his hat she could tell when it was Treville coming near her owner. Her tail would slide out from under the hat and curl protectively around the back of Aramis' neck in warning. The marksman would chuckle and tug on her tail in reprimand, chiding her for being mean to his commanding officer.

"Is she hiding under your hat still Aramis? She's getting far too big to be doing that."

"I am aware Captain, but you try to tell this petite devil spawn what she can and cannot do and see what results you achieve."

"She's going to have to come down," explained Treville. "I have a quick mission for you. Should take the better part of two days, and JJ cannot go."

Aramis had been forced to lock the cat up in his lodgings in order to keep her at the garrison. JJ had never remained behind when Aramis left for missions and the marksman always found her stowed away somewhere amidst his belongings. This time however the young family Aramis was to escort to a nearby town had a frail sickly child and the cat was not welcome.

The mission had not gone well, the child having died en route forcing the family to turn around. It affected Aramis badly and he fell into a melancholy that not even Treville could bring him out of. It also didn't help that JJ was furious with her owner for leaving her behind and was wreaking havoc around the garrison as punishment.

It was one of the regiment's newest recruits, Marsac, that finally forced Aramis to face his ghosts and forgive himself of the child's death that he had played no part in. It was also the beginning of the end of his and JJ's easy friendship. Fiercely jealous of the blossoming friendship between Marsac and himself, she did everything she could to sabotage it.

Marsac and Aramis had just arrived back at the garrison after a two-week-long mission out of Paris when Serge had raced up to the two musketeers in a panic.

"Aramis, JJ is missing! I've not seen that cat since you left weeks ago. Did she by any chance stow away like she would when she was a wee kitten?"

Aramis' eyes widened in worry, "No Serge! I've not seen her at all. Marsac?"

His fellow musketeer just shook his head and wandered off in search of his bed, leaving Serge and Aramis frantically racing to the marksman's own lodgings in search of JJ. Aramis' worry only increased when he couldn't find her amidst his belongings in his rooms. There was only one place left that Aramis could think she might be and he raced out of his room and up the stairs to the Captain's office.

He knocked lightly on the door and after hearing Treville beckon him in he went in and began rummaging around his Captain's office.

"Uhh, would you mind telling me just what you are doing Aramis?" asked Treville. Both incensed at his marksman's boldness and confused as to why the man was disrespecting his own privacy.

"JJ," was Aramis' only response as he continued to search through Treville's belongings.

"That cat sounds like a menace, Aramis," Athos spoke up.

Aramis smiled fondly at the memory, "She was, mon ami, but I still adored her all the same."

'I can't believe you went through Treville's belongings!" exclaimed Porthos. He was looking wide eyed at their disgruntled minister.

"Yes, well, I needed to find JJ."

"I had forgotten how much you blatantly disregarded my authority back then. I still don't think you've learned!" Treville was now glaring at Aramis.

The man in question scuttled backwards on the bed a little, situating himself behind Porthos intending to use the man as a shield should he need it. "I have only the utmost respect for you, Captain."

"Some days I'm not so sure of that... Continue your story, Aramis. It's almost done, if I recall, and no more interruptions!" Treville chided.

JJ wasn't found in Treville's quarters, much to Aramis's dismay, and so he wandered back down the stairs dejectedly, sitting at the table below. He laid his head in his arms and sighed, Serge patting his shoulder in consolation.

"She will turn up somewhere of that I am sure Aramis. She always does."

"I know Serge, but things between JJ and I have been strained for months."

Aramis stayed at the table as Serge made his way back to his kitchens. It wasn't long before several of his fellow comrades joined him, laughing and bantering back and forth. The marksman smiled fondly at the men at the table, closing his eyes and dozing off slightly, listening to the hustle and bustle of the garrison.

The moment was broken shortly after with a loud shout and an angry meow. Aramis flew from his seat towards Marsac's lodging as a white ball of fur and claws and teeth came barreling through the door.

"JJ!" the marksman exclaimed. He quickly made a grab for her, succeeding in grasping her by the neck and pulled her in close. Marsac came flying out after, spewing obscenities and made to confiscate the shaking cat in Aramis's arms.

JJ howled as Marsac yanked her tail and she flailed her paws, hissing. "God damn cat, Aramis!"

"What did she do?"

Marsac and Aramis were dancing around each other, the former trying to reach for the cat, the latter trying to prevent him from reaching the cat.

"Dammit give her to me!"

"No! Why would I do that?"

"I'm going to wring her neck!"

"Marsac stop, no!" Aramis exclaimed. Marsac feinted left and the marksman fell for it. The man grabbed hold of the cat and ripped her out of Aramis' arms. Aramis yelped and made to reached for the cat, but it seemed JJ had enough and growled low and angrily. She pawed at Marsac leaving a long bloody gash on his arm as she scrambled back towards her owner. She jumped from Marsac's arms and directly into Aramis' face scratching and clawing her way to what was once her safe place, on the top of his head.

Aramis cried out in pain as her paw latched onto his forehead and clawed in as she tried to balance herself. Blood was pouring into his eyes and he flailed about trying to remove the cat and avoid Marsac who was still attempting to rip the cat from Aramis' person.

In the end both men ended up in a heap on the ground, legs entangled, arms fighting each other and covered in smears of blood. It was Treville, standing on his balcony watching, who broke up the battle by laughing at his men acting like children.

"And that's pretty much it gentlemen. Treville dragged both Marsac and I to the healing rooms, patched us up and grounded both of us to the garrison for two weeks."

"So a cat gave you the scar on your forehead and an accident gave you a new scar to your cheek. Oh Mis, you have the worst luck!" Porthos exclaimed.

Athos just chuckled and stood from the bed, stretching his limbs. "Thank you for that story, my friend. It was certainly enlightening. I do have one more question though?" asked Athos as the group moved towards the entrance to Aramis' door.

"Hmmm?" hummed Aramis. He had already moved back towards the bed to tidy up the remaining supplies from his injury.

"What became of JJ? Did Marsac get his revenge on her that day?"

Aramis glanced up sadly and shook his head, "No, she laid low for a few days after that battle."

"Aramis? What's wrong?" asked Porthos.

Aramis smiled and looked at his brothers, he didn't know how to convey to them just how much he adored that cat.

"She stowed away in my bags on the training mission to Savoy. She was killed when the Spanish trampled my bedding. She was crushed." That was all Aramis said, his voice breaking at the end. He turned swiftly and waved them away in dismissal.

It was a couple of days before either Athos and Porthos saw their marksman again. Aramis had been on escort duty, delivering one of the noblemen to a nearby village. The men were sitting at the table with d'Artagnan, awaiting their friend's arrival. To pass the time they had told the young Gascon Aramis' scar story, embellishing it slightly to make it more epic.

They were immediately concerned when their friend walked through the garrison gates. He looked exhausted and haggard, and flopped down beside Porthos, taking his hat off and resting his head on the big man's shoulder.

"Mis," Porthos said softly. "go rest. We'll be here when you wake." He briefly stroked Aramis's head and then ushered the man upwards towards his lodgings.

As Aramis disappeared from view, Athos and Porthos kept glancing conspiratorially towards the closed door. It confused d'Artagnan and he was just about to ask what was going on when a shriek rang across the garrison.

D'Artagnan jumped up, preparing to rush towards the distressing sound, when Aramis appeared, holding two balls of fluff squirming in his palms.

One was a deep grey, and the other black as midnight. Athos and Porthos had bought Aramis two new kittens.

"My friends! Come meet Athos Jr and Porthos Jr.!" Aramis exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

D'Artagnan was rolling on the ground, laughing at the two older Musketeers' twin expressions of annoyance at the kittens' names. Aramis just cooed at his kittens, pulled off his hat as they scrambled up his arms and onto his head, and then placed the hat gently back upon his head.

"Thank you," he said softly.